


The Embraced and the Betrayed: A Clash of Blades

by KnightXavier



Series: Tales from Lordran [1]
Category: Dark Souls (Video Games), Dark Souls I
Genre: Action/Adventure, Character Death, Dark, Drama, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-13
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:09:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23132941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KnightXavier/pseuds/KnightXavier
Summary: Deep within the undead church, the familiar knight of favor, Lautrec, sits trapped. He awaits freedom, but does not truly expect he shall achieve such luxury, for he was caught by surprise. He now sits in the cell, awaiting the time when he finally hollows, losing himself.The Chosen Undead, a man covered in the same familiar armor, finds the wayward Embraced Knight, freeing him from his cell. Both seemed shocked to find themselves dressed in the same armor, and the two form an uneasy alliance.Watch as the two struggle to work together, traversing the land of Lordran and fighting alongside each other. Will they be able to work together, or find themselves at the end of each other's blades?
Relationships: Chosen Undead/Lautrec of Carim
Series: Tales from Lordran [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1662784
Comments: 4
Kudos: 16





	1. Chapter 1

Sitting in a cell hidden behind a splintering and rotten wooden door, sat Lautrec of Carim, the Favored Knight of the Goddess Fina. The cell was small and cramped, but held enough room for him to stretch out or stand up. This was the only place like this in the crumbling church, so it was interesting to contemplate why the cell was needed, who it had been to hold. Those few who had known him knew of his title, The Embraced knight, though as he sat in the cramped cell, he realized how infamous he had become due to it. Tales of a golden armored knight traveling Lordran and helping undead only to turn on them later. It brought a small chuckle to him as he gently toyed with his Red Tearstone Ring and the Ring of Favor and Protection, gifts from his home and his goddess, his generous and kind goddess. Even if he were to be forced to remain here, he would never give up on his Goddess, keeping his conviction to her, the prayers he recited to her memorized. Pulling out one of his shotels, Lautrec etched another mark into the wall beside him, a total of 3 weeks stuck in this place now. It was strange, where he had once feared death and being without a purpose was quickly replaced by his need to fulfill his promise. Taking a moment to stretch out, Lautrec grabbed out a whetstone and began to sharpen the blades of his shotel, leaving his dagger upon his hip.

It was almost comical how he found himself trapped here. Foolishly, he had placed the corpse of the fire keeper he had killed upon the altar by the statue below, then became swarmed with the hollows laying in wait. Perhaps the channeller by the open balcony of the church second floor was the cause? Bah, speculation would get him nowhere. The truth was he had gotten sloppy, and paid the price for it. Now, he was content reciting prayers to Fina and keeping his blades sharp to pass the time. Oh, and how time seemed to drag on. Perhaps he might nap quickly, as it had been quite some time since he last slept. Returning his blade to the “sheath” on his hip, he returned to his slouched position, an arm draped over his knee with his head low. Closing his eyes, he waited for the familiar darkness to claim him, to stop his thoughts running rampant. Alas, such simple pleasures did not come easy to him. He reached down, gently grasping the cool green flask that was affixed to his hip. There was still the familiar warmth that radiated from it, yet no fire resided within for now. He had drunk the remaining bottled fire after he had awoke from being put inside here.

For a moment, he thought he heard the sound of clashing blades, the cries of death quite a distance away. Sounds always carried in this place, and he was able to hear most things without truly wanting to. Listening closely now, he heard the slam of a large mace, the tall Berenike knight’s weapon. Damn, whoever had arrived would most likely steal the fire keeper soul he had worked so hard to obtain! Even trapped here, the thought filled him with a sense of despair and anger, the offering to his goddess being snatched away by some random Undead, most likely destined to die before ever reaching their goal. The soul would be lost with their corpse, or enhanced into their flask to allow the fire to heal more of their injuries. In his musings, he missed the clashing of blades getting closer until he heard the death cry of the Channeler not far away, the damn dancing fool that had empowered the lucky hollow that struck him. From the dull thud, he presumed the body had plummeted below, a faint satisfaction feeling him as a smile came to his face. The insufferable servant of the Pale Dragon got the fate it had deserved. If the undead had slain the Channeler, then the only remaining jailer of his was the poor Balder knight standing guard to the hall leading towards the door.

The clanking of the heavy armor of whatever undead had arrived echoed, the quick sound of combat only filling the air for a second before being cut abruptly by the thud of another corpse. Perhaps this undead had some skill after all, able to defeat the hollows by themselves. Much smarter than that fool in the armor with the sun imprinted upon it. The ambitious Undead was most likely dead, going on his fruitless quest to seek a sun of his own. That happy demeanor was all a ruse, a way to throw suspicion off a man seeking power. Sure, he seemed happy to help others, but what would he do to those who stood in his way? Lautrec found himself chuckling, staring down at the floor as the footsteps seemed to stop. The undead would most likely move on, not pay any mind to the rotten wood door. He would find a way out eventually, he did not need the assistance of another to escape. Truthfully however, it would intrigue him to meet the Undead. Perhaps they would hold the fire keeper’s soul he had taken, and would be easy to bring down. After all, nothing came above him and his goddess. Adjusting his sitting position once more, he felt his sore muscles groan in protest, grimacing slightly.

The footsteps came closer once more, stopping right in front of the rotten wooden door. They might actually chose to come through this way. Was it out of curiosity? Perhaps they thought they may find treasure? Ultimately, it did not concern him, but to see the undead might give him a chuckle. There were plenty of fools in a place like this, and not many would trust him due to his looks. He had a vague recollection of meeting an Undead who saw him in this cage, this cell, and simply walked away, muttering about how dangerous men in cages were. He enjoyed sinking his shotel into the fool’s back later, and what a satisfying sound it was to hear them gasp in pain, reaching for where they had been stabbed with desperation. Craning his ears for a moment, he heard the Undead backtrack slightly, a light chuckle escaping him. Of course they would simply leave, whatever was behind the door was not their concern. Yet, only a moment later, the door splintered open, the Undead rolling in and quickly standing up. Lautrec smiled, returning to his previous position in anticipation. Perhaps he would get out of here after all.


	2. Undead Church

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, this chapter took quite a while to make. The creative spark was sputtering there for quite a bit, but here's Chapter 2 for the general public's consumption. There is a bit more in this chapter, and the web of mystery begins to be woven. Hope you all enjoy this one, feedback is always appreciated!

As the Undead rolled through the door, the familiar golden glint of armor shined briefly to Lautrec’s eyes, and he found himself shocked. Was the Undead dressed in his armor? That was impossible, his armor was one crafted by his goddess, symbolizing her love to him and his devotion to her. Looking up, he saw the Undead approach his cell, looking down at him. The two stared at each other for a moment, neither wanting to speak as they saw their identical armor. Upon the Undead’s hand were the same two rings he had, the weapons they held matching his. Had they come to mock him? Anger boiled up inside him, and he reached for his shotel at his hip, intending on slitting the throat of the Undead for such an insult. Quenching the bloodthirst rising up and sighing to himself, he asked the Undead for help, promising a reward later. Watching carefully, the Undead slipped a hand to their key ring, carefully sifting through a large amount of keys, putting a key into the cell door, and pulled the cell door open. The Undead offered his hand to Lautrec, and for a moment, he contemplated simply chopping the limb off in a swift motion. No, there was no time for that. 

Taking the Undead’s hand, Lautrec sprung up, grabbing his shotel and placing it up to their neck with a small grin under his helm. He did not need their help, and he would make that abundantly clear. Yet, in a moment, he felt the same prick of a shotel blade against his neck, and the two found themselves at a standstill, their blades slowly pressing into each other’s necks. The air was tense, neither wanting to break away before the other. Small dribbles of blood slipped from both of their necks, their helms incredibly close to one another. Being the first to pull back, Lautrec sheathed his shotel as he had done many times already, chuckling darkly. You’ve certainly got to be bold to do such a thing at the risk of your own life, Undead. Your first mistake. I won’t let my eyes leave you, I know you’re a very deadly prey now. To turn my back to you is foolish, and I suspect you have the same idea. 

An Estus Flask was pushed into his hands, shining with the familiar glow of flame captured within the cool green flask. Keeping his eye on the Undead, he raised the flask to his lips, his previous wounds closing up and the familiar warmth washing over him. Strange, the Undead had the decency to turn away from him as he took the small swig. The flask itself shone, clearly reinforced with the soul of a Fire Keeper, most likely the offering he had managed to retrieve for his Goddess. Tossing up the flask in the air, Lautrec watched as the Undead caught it on a reflex, not even bothering to look back as they clipped the flask back onto their hip. A strange act of kindness after our initial hostility. You intrigue me further..

Thrusting his hand out to shake, the Undead wordlessly stared at Lautrec, though their body language clearly showed they were still on guard. Grasping the Undead’s hand, Lautrec allowed a smile to grace his features, an expression he had not had in many years now. It felt strange, almost foreign now, but the thought of a good hunt excited him. His Goddess, Fina, would shine upon him and allow him to gain power over the false knight who wore a poor imitation of his Goddess’ favor. He released the handshake first, stepping back and drawing his shotel once more. He would follow the Undead for now, intent on observing them and learning exactly how they would fair. The Undead carefully moved back, keeping their eyes on him as they headed back down the short staircase back down into the main area of the church. Still cautious I see. You’re smarter than I would like, but you’ll slip up soon, I’m certain. 

The walk was rather short before they were met with an issue, a rather large one at that. Blocking their exit to the elevator leading down to Firelink Shrine was a Berenike Knight, his shield and massive mace leveled at the Undead. Chuckling, Lautrec stepped back to watch the ensuing chaos, knowing full well he could easily kill the foolish hollow knight. The Undead before him cautiously began to move around the large knight as he reared back his mace, ready to smash it down and pummel the them into a fine paste. Looking for a moment as though they were lost, the Undead halted, the Berenike Knight finally plummeting his weapon down towards them with surprising speed for his size. The massive mace swung true, yet met the hard concrete beneath him as the Undead rolled to the side, already slashing at the larger knight’s exposed back as he recovered. I see you are quick on your feet as well, despite the bulk of the armor you wear now. Even if it is just a mocking recreation of Fina’s armor she granted to me, it would not be easy to roll with such speed. You are intriguing me more and more already.

Blows were traded, the Undead carefully maneuvering around each swing or strike the Berenike Knight would throw out. Rubble would fly up with each missed swing, the Undead’s shotel slashing the armor whenever the opportunity would present itself. With a vertical strike, the Undead would roll to the side, each swing heavily telegraphed. For the quicker horizontal swings, they would roll under and come up swinging. The amount of stamina they exhibited clearly showed how long they had trained with their weapons, and whoever had taught them knew to keep them on their toes at all times. The Undead had not once relaxed during the entire encounter, keeping their strategy up until the Knight dropped to one knee. They stepped away for a moment.

The Berenike Knight, clearly already badly wounded and beginning to lose ground, used a last ditch effort of throwing his mace directly at the Undead, the massive weapon flying with incredible speed towards them. There is no chance you can dodge such a blow, foolish Undead. I don’t expect you to die, but you will certainly be very close. You should not have been so- As Lautrec watched, the Undead jumped right over the oncoming mace, which by all means should have been a direct hit on them. They quickly brushed themselves off, rushing forward and driving their shotel deeply into the throat of the large knight, who finally collapsed to their death.

“An impressive display, but I feel that is enough action for now, no?” Lautrec approached the Undead, his arms by his side resting near his weapons. “I know of the Firelink Shrine, a place of rest and respite for us Undead. Shall we travel there and rest for the time being? I can watch your back the short distance to the elevator.” The Undead stared at him for a moment, clearly distrusting his sudden display of friendliness. “Oh come now, I don’t think you or I want to stand around here much longer with the roaming Hollows. They don’t make for much good conversation.. Then again, neither have you so far.”

The Undead seemingly glared at Lautrec before stepping onto the lift leading down to Firelink Shrine, never taking their eyes off him until they disappeared from sight. “Such a testy and fiery individual. My goodness..” The other side of the lift arrived for Lautrec to take down, to which he quickly stepped inside and began his descent downwards. “With such a mystery around you, foolish Undead, I find that you’re weaving a very dangerous web. One which I may find myself entangled in, but do not expect to come out on top..”

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! This is my first time trying out a Dark Souls styled story, and my first time posting on this site. As you can see, the main perspective will be from Lautrec, but in a third person sense, and he will be the "main" character here. The Chosen Undead, who will remain nameless for now, is one that I created a while ago, and figured I'd finally put them down into a story of my own. Please let me know if you like it, or if there is something you did not like. This is mostly an experiment, but I have multiple chapters planned out already. Thank you all!


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